FILE 000 Regarding the Matter of the First Meeting
Recovered from the earliest Society archives. The original pages contain remarkably few
details. Historians attribute this to the unfortunate tendency of important beginnings to
resemble perfectly ordinary afternoons.
There exists some disagreement regarding precisely when
the Society of Porch & Garden Affairs first came into being.
Some maintain it began with the expansion of the porch.
Others insist it began with the Lemon Tree.
Chairman Mortimer would later suggest that proper
government had always existed...
though admittedly with fewer meetings.
The archives, however...
tell a quieter story.
Society of Porch and Garden Affairs
Once...
the porch was small.
Just enough room for a handful of chairs.
A few hopeful pots.
And plants determined to survive a Texas summer that
showed them very little mercy.
The sun lingered from morning until evening.
The herbs tried.
The flowers tried.
The tomatoes tried.
No amount of watering could persuade them that one
hundred degree afternoons were a reasonable working
environment.
Then, one autumn...
the porch expanded its boundaries.
Crews arrived.
The earth was disturbed.
Pots migrated to temporary quarters.
Concrete settled where bare ground had been only days
before.
Then came the roof.
Simple.
Metal.
Unassuming.
Yet beneath it...
shade gathered.
Not perfect shade.
Just enough.
Enough for rosemary to breathe a little easier.
Enough for tomatoes to linger through another afternoon.
Enough to imagine one more pot.
Then another.
The herbs arrived first.
Society of Porch and Garden Affairs
Rosemary.
Thyme.
Basil.
The sort of neighbors who introduce themselves by
fragrance long before conversation.
Flowers claimed the corners.
Tomatoes multiplied with quiet ambition.
Cucumbers immediately began interpreting boundaries as
suggestions.
The peppers arrived with considerably better manners.
And finally...
the Lemon Tree.
She was given a place of honor near the edge of the porch.
Where morning light could greet her...
and afternoon shade could persuade her to stay.
Then came the rain.
Rain upon an ordinary roof has very little to recommend it.
Rain upon a metal porch roof...
is another matter entirely.
Some storms arrived as slow, thoughtful drops...
each one striking the roof with a patient little tink.
Others hurried across the sky in joyful conversation...
filling the porch with bright staccato rhythms that echoed
through the garden until every leaf seemed to be listening.
The Human found herself lingering there.
Sometimes with coffee.
Sometimes with tea.
Sometimes with no purpose beyond listening.
The porch, it seemed...
had quietly become somewhere worth staying.
As the seasons passed, more life arrived.
Butterflies.
Bees.
Society of Porch and Garden Affairs
Dragonflies.
Birds who considered property lines largely theoretical.
Creatures came and went according to rules no committee
had yet attempted to document.
The Human noticed them.
Not all at once.
Little by little.
One ordinary afternoon...
while watering the Lemon Tree...
she happened to glance beneath the pot.
There, tucked into a small hollow among the roots sat a…
frog.
He was not particularly large.
Nor especially colorful.
He made no announcement.
Offered no introduction.
He simply sat there...
as though he had always belonged.
The Human smiled.
The frog remained exactly where he was.
Neither of them realized...
that the minutes of the first Society meeting had already
begun.